


Harness

by gunmetalfeathers



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Canon Crossdressing Outfit, Crossdressing, Foot Kink, Japanese Rope Bondage, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oral Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29996769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunmetalfeathers/pseuds/gunmetalfeathers
Summary: “We did, yeah, I’m just- Ugh, forget it.” Akira throws something to the floor in aggravation. “I cannot get this wig to behave and I am not taking these gloves off again.”He walks around the screen, at last, and Zenkichi doesn’t have words. He doesn’t have a reaction either, apparently, as all that comes out of his mouth is, “Huh.”“It’s a halloween costume, but I kind of like it. I don’t have anything else that feels like Joker. Does that make sense?”
Relationships: Hasegawa Zenkichi/Kurusu Akira, Hasegawa Zenkichi/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Harness

**Author's Note:**

> Joker is Different from Akira and Hasegawa is a bit of a boyscout. Akira is so cute in that cop outfit but the wig sucks. It's awful. I'm not including it for love nor money. 
> 
> Title taken from 'harness your hopes' by pavement, which unfortunately has nothing to do with fucking 45yo cops but is a /great/ song.

Hasegawa looks at the sign for Leblanc cafe, trepidation seeping out of his pores. The shop is closed, the owner long gone, at least according to the very thorough, anxious text message conversation he’d had on the train here. 

He’s been there before during daylight hours anyway, once for investigations and once more for coffee and cake. It feels distinctly bizarre coming here anxious, excited for… He’s not even sure if he can call this a date.

Akira is pretty nonchalant about things. They talk in depth, far too often, but things don’t seem to have changed much since they started… Well, sleeping together. Zenkichi’s been having daily crises about it, losing sleep and waking from fitful dreams, but if they’re not talking about sex Akira acts exactly the same. It’s puzzling. It’s a nightmare. 

Akira rents a room in a pokey little neighbourhood full of nosey old people so Zenkichi doesn’t want to hang around outside for too long, as unsettled as he is feeling. He can sense the curtains twitching around him. He takes a steadying breath and knocks on the door, business-like.

It rattles. It’s not locked, so he lets himself in. 

Akira isn’t there, but the cat is. Zenkichi calls out, extending a petting hand, but Morgana tuts irritably and scarpers out the front door. Morgana is not taking this well, refusing to acknowledge him at all around his and Akira’s get-togethers. The cat did share a bed with Akira, he reasoned, so it was pretty understandable he wasn’t happy about getting kicked out on the regular. 

He did wish that he wasn’t so concerned about what a  _ cat  _ thought of him, though. The idea that the little pest had such damaging blackmail on him didn’t sit well. 

He takes a seat at the bar and pulls out his phone. Surprisingly, Akira has already messaged him. 

[It’s open.]

[Don’t get too comfortable. I’m almost ready.]

[Are you still feeling open minded?]

...Whatever that means. 

Hasegawa’s not sure what to expect. Akira had said something about “trying something out,” refused to elaborate, and then sent some underwear photos which threw Hasegawa off the scent. The boy’s a bit of an artist with lewd selfies, nothing like what Hasegawa has seen on dating apps. More thoughtful, more elaborate.He sends too many, too often, and Hasegawa is still too chicken to save them. He just scrolls their message history with damp hands.

Akira calls out to him, voice faint, from upstairs.

“Can you lock the door and turn off the light? I don’t think I should attempt those stairs in these.”

More mysteries. 

Hasegawa dutifully clicks the lock and flicks the lights. The stairs up are horrendous, bare planks with no guard rail. He has to duck to get under a beam into Akira’s room, and it’s kinda gross. 

The walls are bare brick, water damaged, and the floorboards are old and battered. There are large dusty beams heaving with spider webs taking up the space under the chipped paint of the ceiling. Bags of dry restaurant supplies, coffee beans, and roofing supplies are piled haphazardly against the wall next to a battered tool desk. The windows are the old kind with a little screw to close and open, and they’re rusted to hell and back. 

When Akira had said “attic room” he’d pictured more of a bedroom. This room doesn’t even have a bed- the mattress is on the floor. Is this seriously where this guy lives? 

“I’ll just be a second,” Akira says, and Hasegawa realises he’s on the other side of a large, fabric screen that looks like it came from a thrift store a hundred years ago. “You said you could handle anything, right?” 

Hasegawa could hear his expression- the wild card, flashing his teeth. 

The teen has clearly tried his best with the living space- it’s clean where he can reach, there’s string lights up, some posters. A cheap rug covers the worst parts of the floor. There are some vibrant plants, loudly alive in such a dingy space. There are ornaments on the ancient looking shelves, a blanket over the threadbare couch. It’s more considerate than most student flats, he guesses. 

He chooses the couch to sit on rather than the mattress, taking off his shoes. It’s old and crapped out. Hopefully fit for purpose. Hasegawa knows how it feels. 

“Hey, it’s not like you to be unprepared,” he says casually. “We did say 9, right?” 

“We  _ did,  _ yeah, I’m just- Ugh, forget it.” Akira throws something to the floor in aggravation. “I cannot get this wig to behave and I am  _ not  _ taking these gloves off again.” 

He walks around the screen, at last, and Zenkichi doesn’t have words. He doesn’t have a reaction either, apparently, as all that comes out of his mouth is, “Huh.”

“It’s a halloween costume, but I kind of like it. I don’t have anything else that feels like  _ Joker.  _ Does that make sense?” Akira is on the fence between deadly serious and flippant as usual. 

His long, willowy legs are glossy with black fabric. He’s wearing some cheap looking, leatherette, ladies police uniform- a blouse and skirt, and black gloves that start above his elbow. It’s a bit of a goofy outfit, probably, on the hanger or the bed or someone else, but stretched across the boy’s lithe frame and lean muscle it looks  _ good. _

“I think I know what you mean. It suits you.” Zenkichi replies, sounding surprisingly cool despite it all. Akira’s painted his face- blended colours lining his eyes and dark lip stain. He’s beautiful, but if anything the makeup and heels feel more like indicators of a predator than prey. This feels like a dangerous secret to be privy to. He’s certainly not going to be able to look at tights the same for a while, and nothing’s even happened yet. 

“What were you expecting? How off-base is this?” Akira asks, a familiar smile transformed in the context of this outfit. He runs his hand through his hair habitually.

“Hm. With you? I try not to expect anything.” He wants to smoke so very badly, to busy his hands, because he’s not sure how long he’s supposed to hold off. He itches to grab Akira, feel his ass through that ridiculous skirt, smudge his makeup and rip those tights. But the air between them feels different. 

Akira crosses the floor to meet him, heels of his shoes clicking against the floorboards. They’re higher than his phantom thief boots, stretching his calf muscles taut. There’s a slit in the skirt, so while it’s knee length it’s pretty revealing. The boy doesn’t seem phased by it. 

“That’s a smart move, Hasegawa-san. I have something in mind.” 

“Is it not, uh, this?” Always feeling a few steps behind where their sex life is involved, Zenkichi is getting that low down danger feeling. He’s dreading that other guy popping out from the doorway or something. 

Akira straightens Hasegawa’s tie and collar, giving him a short smile. He looks at him like he’s for dinner and it’s making him sweat, already. That had to be some kind of record. “Almost. Take off your jacket?”

Hasegawa does, folding it along the back seam and leaving it on the couch. When he turns around Akira is holding a coil of rope and wearing a capricious expression. 

“You said you were feeling flexible, right?”

So Hasegawa sits, too patiently, too well behaved, knelt on the floor with his arms crossed behind his back. Someone with more guts and less shame would fight the boy to the floor and wipe that smug look off his face. Hasegawa sits on his feet and watches, too inquisitive for his own good. 

“Sorry for what I said about you being unprepared. You’ve put a lot of work into this, huh?”

Akira’s concentration face is modified by the lipstick, the dark eyes, and his nimble fingers are hindered some by the gloves, but he loops and fastens and knots with steady determination.

“I thought you’d look good like this. You’ve had a lot of practice having your hands tied, right?” He pulls rope that squeezes Zenkichi’s biceps back with a sudden tug, almost knocking him off balance. A small smile blossoms on his painted lips. It’s too tempting. Hasegawa leans forward to kiss him. 

It’s too chaste for his liking, just soft lips, but Akira pulls away and he’s held back by the cord. 

“I was wondering, by the way… Why exactly you asked me to wear an old tie?” 

“Did it get your imagination going, Hasegawa-san?” Akira strokes his cheek sweetly with the back of a gloved knuckle. 

“A little,” he confesses, as the boy finishes a knot that pins his wrists together. “But I wasn’t sure how far you’d take it.”

“Do you like being choked, Hasegawa-san?” Akira asks, tone still dulcet, looping cord around his waist with precision, pulling it taut. “I can do that.” 

He pushes Hasegawa onto his back swiftly with a firm shove to the breast bone. He’s stuck there, helpless, like a turtle. Akira grins down at him.

“Almost done. Knees up.” 

Hasegawa obeys, a little shell shocked, feeling more and more like a science experiment than ever. He’s too nonplussed to get hard, which is probably a good thing on his back with Akira holding his thighs. 

He’s got another length of rope, blood red, and he’s twisting and knotting this one around Hasegawa’s calves with quick ease. Akira’s practiced this one a lot, he can tell from how he sizes up the loops and ties methodically until Hasegawa can’t move his legs either. His heels are flush to the backs of his thighs, braided in zig zags of rope. He wishes he’d taken time to pick nicer socks, or at least a pair that definitely don’t have a hole somewhere. 

“Looking good.” Akira says, sounding a little giddy. “You’ll be okay on your back, right?” 

“It feels too late to say “no” to you,” he says, laughing despite himself. The ludicrousness of the situation is settling in now he’s trapped. He could probably roll onto his knees if he had to, but with Akira leering at him hungrily he’s not sure why he’d want to.

“I have a knife to get you out if you need it. Let’s say the safeword is target.” Akira nods at it. It’s stuck in a dartboard on the wall, like something out of a cartoon. It’s also fucking giant. In Jails, in Joker’s hand, it looks fine, but here in reality it has a peculiar aura. Teenage boys shouldn’t have knives like this.

“Can I take your glasses off?” Akira asks, expression rapt like a praying mantis. 

Hasegawa shakes his head firmly. “We’ve been over this. I’m not cute short sighted, I’m blind.” 

Akira looks a little disappointed, just for a second. 

“You put all that on. I want to see it.” He says, tone a little softer, trying to appease the boy’s hurt expression. 

“Oh, this?” Akira asks, unreadable. He stands from kneeling without any real grace. Hasegawa gets an eyeful of glossy, black polyester on his way up. 

“You like to watch, right?” 

Akira looms over him, charming and slender, and pulls his gloves taut from the wrist. The reflex is instantly familiar. Joker flashes his teeth. Hasegawa swallows and nods. 

“I like watching  _ you. _ ” 

Akira unbuttons his ‘uniform’ overshirt to expose a white shirt underneath. A girl’s school one. (Hasegawa recognises the buttons instantly. His daughter has the same one.) 

“Does it aggravate you, knowing you can’t touch?” Akira stands between Hasegawa’s legs and runs his hands along the curves of his chest, his waist, his thighs. His hips sway and Hasegawa tries his best not to get too caught up in it. The boy’s a total showoff, always, however he’s dressed, but like this he’s in his element. Joker is in his element. The boy dangles meat over him, starving, and laughs.

“I know you’re good with your hands, but I wanted to make this last.” He presses the tip of one boot into Hasegawa’s inner thigh, pressing down enough to hurt. The motion is one of authority, making it clear what he wants, and how he's planning to take it.

Meeting Zenkichi’s eye with an audacious grin, the boy licks his lips. “Tonight, you’re mine.” 

He tries to catch the whimper as it comes out but it escapes, sounding pitiful. The boy above him practically crackles with electricity above him, looking proud. 

“I’m sure you can do better than that,” he says tutting sarcastically. “I haven’t even touched you yet.” 

“Were you ever planning to?” Hasegawa bites back, surprising himself. “Is this some fantasy of yours about lording it over the law?”

Joker smiles with shark teeth, absolutely  _ delighted _ , stepping hard enough on his stomach to wind him. “I want to see how hard I have to push you before you spring back.” 

Hasegawa won’t let himself choke, maintaining even eye contact with the pressure on him. “It’s all head games to you, huh?” 

The boy kneels- well, squats, making allowances for his skirt- thoughtfully, weight still on the awkward space under Hasegawa’s rib. He strokes Hasegawa’s face with an index finger, a long, slow stripe with indifferent gloves. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ears. 

He speaks in a purr, teasing. “You’re pretty when you’re nervous. I could stand to see it a little more is all.” 

Joker is so elusive and contrary. Hasegawa would be pissed off if he wasn’t so perfectly captivated by him. The  _ trouble  _ that comes off Joker in waves is palpable, almost visible in the flash of his eyes and his aggravating, languid competence. It’s common in convicts, the ever-amused cynicism, but from the boy it’s piercing, red hot. 

When they’d first done anything like this he’d worried he was taking advantage of Akira, his innocence and vulnerability, his young body so corruptible.

Now he’s met Joker more than once, he knows he’s the one being exploited.

Akira shrugs off his little leather jacket and helps himself to Hasegawa’s jacket. It’s an embarrassingly good fit on him, framing his shoulders nicely. The outfit looks a little more respectable, almost intentional like this. Akira preens a little, adjusting the lapels and cuffs. 

He kneels next to where Hasegawa is trapped on the floor, and toys with the ties binding him rigid. Fingertips trail down Hasegawa’s front, moving knot by knot, teasing through his shirt.

“Comfortable?” he asks, scaldingly. 

“That’s not really the point, is it?” Hasegawa exhales. The spark in the boy’s eyes is raising his pulse. “You’ve got me down here for a reason.” 

The boy all in black doesn’t respond, but he does lean in to catch Hasegawa’s mouth in a heated kiss. It’s not reassuring at all, all tongue and teeth and possessiveness, but it is recognisably  _ Akira.  _

Akira’s hands roam along Hasegawa’s chest, frictionless for the gloves, but the contact is grounding. His fingers find Hasegawa’s tie and yank it loose from where it’s caught in the shibari, then curl around it to hold him by the throat. 

Like a collar. 

The kiss is familiar, the pressure and textures of his mouth, but there’s a faint flavour to the edges of it. Lip gloss, he realises faintly, a little taken aback. He’d expect fake cola flavouring from Akira, sure, but not Joker. The divide between the two is so distinct and yet so vague.

They part, a little wetly, and the boy grins against him. “Relax,” he whispers before sitting up. His lipstick is still flawless. Hasegawa hopes he’s not wearing too much of it himself. 

Akira pats the pockets of Hasegawa’s blazer and finds his cigarettes. He extracts one delicately from his mouth. He clicks the lighter active surprisingly well for the gloves. 

Akira smokes while he takes off his boots, long curves of his legs stretching and tightening, and stands over him.

“These are very bad for you,” he says, cigarette stuck to his bottom lip with dark paint. 

“Well… I think you might be worse for me,” Hasegawa says as he watches Akira move in his ridiculous skirt. 

“What, because I’m jailbait?” he asks casually, but the word he uses makes Hasegawa wince.

“No. Because you make me very stupid.” Joker laughs at this, too amused, stepping on Hasegawa’s thigh again. 

“Figures. You wouldn’t use language like that so easily. It’s all been trained out of you.” He traces along Hasegawa’s inseam, ball of his foot pressing against his crotch. 

“It’s always rewarding to drag it out of you though.” 

He’s never been in a situation like this. Not even with women his own age. Magic boys half his age with machetes is a whole new ball park. Akira trails one toe around the outline of his bulge, precise as anything. 

Hasegawa meets his eye, watching the boy smoulder and smoke, anticipation hot and stifling. Akira taps ash on the floor, looking down with scrutiny. The cigarette between his fingers has a perfect mauve kiss print, stark against the paper of the filter. 

“You look good down there.” 

Hasegawa tries his luck. Joker dislikes hesitation most of all so it’s usually for the best to follow his gut instinct. 

“You don’t look so bad up there.” 

The boy’s reaction is instant- the fire crackles in his eyes right away. He pinches and flicks the cigarette butt away, too practiced. He seems to be a natural at everything.

Akira steps on his collarbone, pressing him hard into the floor with a grind of his foot. 

“Do let me know if I hurt you too bad… Gramps.” 

Hasegawa laughs despite everything. 

“I’m tougher than I look, remember? I can handle you just fine.” 

Akira just smiles, the warmth of his nylons feeling bizarre against Hasegawa’s stubble as a foot slides up one side of his face.

Hasegawa is so out of his depth it isn’t even funny, but the flush is climbing his cheeks. He can feel his nerves giving way to the insistent heat building in his abdomen, spurred by the wild look in Akira’s eyes.

The boy taps on his chin with two toes and he’s not even embarrassed. He opens his mouth, just enough, and the noise that cracks out of Akira is worth it. Anything that gets Joker to drop his composure like that is worth it.

“I thought you wouldn’t go for this,” he says, voice a little smaller than it has been, confirming he’s been taken a little by surprise. He presses forward tentatively, literally dipping his toes, and then gasps hard when Hasegawa laps at the underside of his foot, unbidden.

Zenkichi can’t really talk, obviously, but he’s fine to listen. Akira’s feet don’t have much of a flavour or smell like this, and the texture of his toes through socks is too bizarre to be much of a turn on, but… Akira is  _ moaning _ like nothing else, covering his mouth with his hand like he wants to muffle it, but the sound fills the room anyway. 

Akira's toes dig into his tongue, forcing his mouth open wider with a little twist of his ankle. Like this the muscle of his calf seems to go on forever, firm and glossy. Hasegawa sucks with enough strength to make a horrible noise and the boy's toes curl with pleasure.

He’s not sure how long it goes on, Akira arching his foot, jaw complaining for the weird angle- he’s too caught up in watching the boy wearing his jacket curse under his breath. 

Akira steps back, but it’s more of a cute hop, and he clears his throat. 

“Sensitive?” Hasegawa asks, pretty coolly for someone with his own spit smudged across his face and a mouth tasting like feet. 

Akira doesn’t say anything, just shimmies his long legs out of his skirt. Standing in the centre of the room in Zenkichi’s jacket, an unbuttoned shirt and lingerie he looks delectable. There’s a wedge of exposed skin between his hold-up stockings-  _ stockings _ , so much worse than tights, obviously chosen with this in mind- and his black underwear, bare thigh so tempting and eye catching. Hasegawa was almost expecting a garter belt to match the gloves, but he can’t really complain. 

Akira kneels, lean thigh muscles stretching under sheer fabric, and sits with his pretty panties- plain, but satin or silk, something indecent looking- inches away from Hasegawa’s face.

“Show me your mouth.” The boy says, self-assured. Hasegawa is already huffing and slavering at the skin of his thighs like a pervert before he's finished asking. It’s always hard to say no to Akira, but he can only move so much like this. His fingers, utterly trapped in the sweat cave under his back, itch to grab. He wants to ladder stockings, leave bites, push this brat off and get on top of him already. 

He’s absolutely stuck though, caught exactly where Joker wants him. 

He settles for slobbering over him through his underwear, mouthing a bit too eagerly at the weight of him.

“I did  _ ask  _ if you wanted to keep your glasses on, you’ll remember,” Akira’s saying, tone haughty, but Hasegawa doesn’t give a damn about that right now. He won’t be able to get home if they get broken but he’s miles beyond caring. 

He’s chasing dashes of sharp, hot sweat across the creases of Akira’s thighs, heady with the scent of his arousal. Not having his hands is making his mouth more sensitive and creative. The smell of the boy’s body wash lingers here too, but it’s totally overshadowed by the tang of sex. Akira is hard against him, and he can  _ smell  _ how much pre he’s dribbled into his panties. He wants to taste it, but through the fabric it’s very muted and he’s craning his neck as far as it can go.

Akira looks a little dazed, absently petting Hasegawa’s hair. He talks a tough game but he’s pretty easy to knock back sometimes. 

“Fuck,” is all he manages to say before he pulls himself out of the cute underwear so Hasegawa can actually  _ reach  _ him. The sight of his cute cock and tight balls hanging over the waistband, over bunches of black satin is so much, too much to bear. 

Thankfully Akira is there to direct him. He pulls Hasegawa by the nape to guide his mouth onto his dick, cradling the back of his head with those stripper gloves, purring delectably all the while. 

Hasegawa mouths at the tip, tonguing the bitterness leaking there. He’s light headed, overflowing with the flavour of him, and it’s enough to distract from the stiff, twinging ache in his jaw. 

“I think I should have tied you up a long time ago,” Akira drawls, tone caustic, but his breath is tight. 

Hasegawa is getting used to not being able to respond, and it’s difficult to muster much indignation about it. He sucks at the boys dick as best as possible, flattening his tongue, fighting the awful position, shoulders straining against the floor. 

Akira mewls, painted eyes fluttering closed, fingers closing in Hasegawa’s hair like a handhold. 

“You’re not going anywhere until I’m done,” he says, tone dark and greedy, hips moving insistently to fuck Hasegawa’s mouth deeper. 

Hasegawa is so hard, so tightly wound up, so aggravated that all of his skin is crawling with electricity, but all he can do is bob his head in submission. The waistband of Akira’s cute underwear tickles his face on occasion, slimy with spilt fluids. 

The boy’s fingers spread from the back of his neck to his hairline, pulling his hair out of his face. Hard enough to smart, to get his attention.

“You weren’t kidding about being resilient.” Akira drawls, almost admiringly. 

He reaches underneath himself for Hasegawa’s tie, twining it around his fingers. Hasegawa can’t even begin to imagine how gross it is for how much his mouth is leaking spit and precome, fucked loose in this cruel orientation, literally bending to Akira’s will. 

Akira squeezes the knot, sliding it tight around Hasegawa’s throat, cutting off his air again, but won’t let up from thrusting into his mouth mercilessly.

“You can take a lot of punishment, gramps.” 

Hasegawa mumbles something affirmative, feeling the exact opposite of tough caught between the boy’s gloved hands and the hard floor, back muscles screaming in complaint. They find a good angle together somehow, Hasegawa’s tongue lapping at the underside of Akira’s cock, finding a spot that makes him pant hard. He’s lost in it totally, focusing on repetitive motions and the taste flooding his mouth and the hot catches of Akira’s breathing, and-

Akira pulls back, cheeks scarlet, and grins a little sheepishly. 

“You’re amazing like this, but my legs are going to give out if you keep that up.” 

Hasegawa nods, taking the opportunity to stretch his neck. He’s a little disappointed. He spits a wad of thick spittle sideways. When he gets his mouth clear enough to talk his voice is dry, hoarse.

“If you collapse I can’t exactly help you like this.”

Akira kneels next to him sitting on crossed ankles, looking almost demure. Besides the swollen, scarlet erection dripping across his thighs, anyway. He wraps his fingers around his dick slowly, purring a little.

“You look good like this, Hasegawa-san.” 

“You’re still not done, are you?” He whines, the familiar sting of his dead arms getting more intense. He can picture the shade of purple his hands must be underneath him. The hungry look on Akira’s face is worth it though.

“Did you expect this when you saw me?” He asks, tone heady, jerking himself with those ridiculous gloves. “Did you think you’d get to smudge my makeup and bend me over?”

Hasegawa is appreciating being able to breathe without anything shoved in his mouth so he chooses his answer carefully. 

“You told me to be open minded, right?” 

Akira laughs, “How’s that working out for you?” 

“Well. You tell me, kid.” It slips off his tongue, too easily. He doesn’t  _ like  _ talking to Akira like that, makes what they’re doing feel more debauched somehow, lights a perilous fire at his core. ‘Kid’ was what he should call his daughter, her friends, not someone jerking off over him. 

But it works. Akira hisses in delight, hips catching messily, and he paints Hasegawa’s face in a series of hot, dribbling spurts. Akira mutters swears under his breath, still milking himself for a while. He seems absolutely intent on frosting Hasegawa’s glasses too, squeezing the last drops from his cock head there. He can still see better than without them.

He breathes hard for a moment before getting up. “Wait there.”

“Like I have a choice,” Hasegawa replies, wiggling his toes to try and get some feeling back in them. He really doesn’t want the come to drip into his eyes but it’s not looking like he has a choice about that. 

Akira comes back over holding his phone.

“Oh no,  _ seriously?”  _

“Say  _ ‘ahh’ _ ,” Joker purrs, clearly snapping photos. 

“I’ll get lockjaw, you deviant,” he protests, as Akira coats his fingers with the mess from his face, pushes Hasegawa’s mouth open with them. It’s getting thick and gluey. 

The shutter keeps going off. This is  _ bad,  _ even for them. 

“I’m glad you kept your glasses on. You look disgusting.” Akira coos dreamily, fingerfucking his tongue with damp gloves.

Hasegawa gurgles, for lack of other options. Having the kid drooling over him is getting to his head. 

Akira finally takes Zenkichi’s jacket off, folding it and draping it carefully with his awful, messy gloves.

“Whoops! I could have got that stained… I’ll be more careful in future.”

Hasegawa just huffs, still light-headed, too wound up to rise to the challenge.

Akira finally undoes his flies. Angels wept. He checks in with Hasegawa’s neglected, pulsing cock with a gentle stroke, grinning.

“I’ve got something to show you, actually.” 

He turns around, showmanlike, and bends slightly at the middle like a chorus girl. One hand strokes up his thigh from the outside and pulls his underwear down with a flourish. The boy parts his ass carefully, and uh-

He’s wearing a toy. There’s a black base already there, stretching him. 

Hasegawa’s brain is going to melt out of his ears. The boy creaming himself all over him is starting to make a little more sense now.

“Should I take it out?” he asks, modestly, fingers circling the plastic.

Hasegawa knows where this is going. Joker likes  _ direct  _ and he’s getting the hang of it. He’s got literally nothing to lose anymore anyway. 

“There’s not room in there for both of us, Akira.” 

Akira is  _ delighted  _ by this response, and giggles softly, taking great pleasure in easing the toy out of himself with a whimper. 

His hole puckers, a little open, and Hasegawa thinks things are going well for a moment. That’s a mistake. 

Akira shifts to sit on his face with careful aim, reaching to work a hand into Hasegawa’s hair, pulling him forward into his cleft. 

Hasegawa’s wondering what else could be left to shove in his mouth. His face is already in total disarray, gummy with drying come and spit. Akira’s doing most of the work with the position so his neck strain isn’t too aggravated at least. 

The boy smells obscene back there, sour testosterone sweat and musk. Hasegawa can’t get much more overwhelmed. He tongues the length of hot skin stretching along his taint, making Akira moan lauditorily.

The pucker of his hole is too tempting like this. Knowing Akira started this whole affair ready for use is making him feel very powerful and unhinged, regardless of his position. He tongues the rim of the boy’s asshole, tasting artificial sweetener from whatever lube he used. 

“Fuck,” Akira gasps, voice cracking into vulnerable pieces. 

Hasegawa’s jaw is screaming for mercy but Akira’s hips are starting to shake again so there’s no way he’s quitting. He thrusts his tongue forward into him, lapping at his quivering insides. The sweet noises bubbling out of Akira lead him on, determined, drowning out the dull ache of his erection and his numb, screaming limbs.

Akira grows particularly high-pitched and tremulous sounding and Hasegawa can  _ feel  _ him getting close, and- 

The boy sits up, crawling off with weak legs before he can come again. His backside is a mess of spit mixed with god-knows-what, dribbling down to the tops of his stockings. Hasegawa would be proud if he wasn’t so exasperated, over-sensitive and dizzy.

“Do you wanna do this?” Akira asks, still panting for breath, knelt there next to him.

Hasegawa doesn’t have any blood left in his brain to solve complex problems. There’s too much of everything stuck in his beard. He nods straight away.

“Well obviously, you damned tease.” 

Akira peels his pants open, getting him out properly with sticky gloves, looking absolutely rapturous. His dick is so hard the cooling slick on Akira’s fingers feels excruciating, like ice on a sunburn. 

“I wanna fuck you so bad I’m going nuts,  _ get on with it, _ ” Hasegawa spits out, surprising them both. Akira’s eyes glaze over blissfully and he nods.

“I like it better when you let go,” he says softly. 

Akira lowers himself onto Hasegawa’s cock head slowly, teasing himself with it momentarily, and then drops an inch. They both cuss at once, over-stimulated in different ways. Akira bows his head, breathing hard.

Zenkichi’s cock is so painfully engorged he could cry, feeling Akira swallow him in. He’s so oversensitive every ripple of muscle feels like a thousand volts. It’s infuriating not being able to  _ respond  _ at all, hips trapped, arms taken away from him. 

Akira keeps easing himself down, little by little, abdominal muscles working. His makeup is finally a little smudged from sweat, where his hair is tickling the sides of his face. His fingers are balling into Hasegawa’s chest harness for support. He’s so perfectly hot and clingy, greased and prepped like he was made for this.

His thighs look rock solid. They must be exhausted. The hold-ups have lasted well, although the black ribbon at their tops is sticky and terrible looking now. 

“You didn’t tell me about the plug,” Hasegawa manages to say. It’s more than he’s expecting to get out between curses. Akira is sucking the life out of him. 

Akira’s eyes are screwed shut in concentration but he nods. “I wanted to see your face drop, but…” He adjusts his position slightly, trembling. “I might have overdone this a little.” 

“That’s not like you, admitting you were wrong about something.” 

Akira doesn’t have a cute reply. He starts to move in a shuddering rhythm on Hasegawa’s lap, gnawing at his bottom lip. Each circle of his hips makes him gasp, sending sparks through them both.

“Was planning to last a while longer,” the boy says, voice small and breathy. “But-” 

He can’t get the words out, too enthralled, too caught up in fucking himself. 

“It’s alright,” Hasegawa responds tersely. He’s not sure about his own stamina after all he’s endured. 

Akira meets his eyes with an out-of-place shy smile, and bites the fingertip of one glove to pull them off, then the next, combining smudged lipstick and come-stained fabric for just a moment. It’s not the lewdest thing Hasegawa has seen tonight, by a long shot, but it makes his head spin anyway. 

His bare hands somehow make it  _ worse  _ after so long without seeing them, especially fisting Hasegawa’s tie as a handhold and wrapping fingers around his own erection. He moans again, showily, for the contact, but it’s eclipsed by how his hole twitches and tightens perfectly around Hasegawa’s cock. 

“Zenkichi, I-” Akira’s hips buck hard as Hasegawa nudges against something that makes him start with a moan. His first name is a little starting amongst all this. 

“Yeah?” He’s so delirious he doesn’t care who goes first. Akira’s insides are perfect, fitting him like a slutty glove, but at the same time the pleasure is so intense it could knock him out. He’s close, wound so tight he’s going to snap, and he can’t even move to do anything about it. 

“I want- I’m gonna-” 

“Akira. Please.” He can’t handle much more of this. He’s moments away himself, especially if the boy keeps moving so erratically. 

Akira keens, hand moving fast on himself, hips rocking hard. He’s stuck on something he can’t verbalise, wordless, hanging onto Hasegawa’s chest for dear life. He’s on the edge, clearly, just needing a little nudge, or- 

“Come on, brat, can you not take anymore?” Hasegawa says through gritted teeth, prickly heat surging through him. It feels cheap, but he left his scruples behind a long time ago.

Akira hisses, too predictable, triggering hard with a yelp. He tightens in a series of spasms, milking Hasegawa for all he’s worth. “F-Fuck, I-” 

Hasegawa’s seeing spots already, totally levelled by the haphazard thrashing devouring him. Akira’s saying something, a million miles away, muffled by the roaring in Hasegawa’s ears. All of the heat and energy in his body is pouring out of him in waves, and he’s not even sure if he’s making any noise. 

He loses track of time, space, reality, all replaced by the hot rush that surges through him and into the soft pressure of Akira all around him. It feels like it lasts forever. 

"-kichi, seriously?" Akira's voice fades back in. The boy is panting hard but his hips have stilled, finally, legs heavy around Hasegawa's waist. 

"Huh?" he asks from the other side of the universe, still twitching. He's pretty sure he's blind. 

There are clammy fingers stroking his face, taking off his glasses. "I'm gonna let you out, okay?" 

Hasegawa doesn't understand. He doesn't really care either. It's all fine until the warm squeeze around his dick pulls away, making him hiss. He's not ready to remember what he's supposed to be doing. He's still floating a little, deaf and dumb, exhausted from coming like a freight train.

The weight on top of him leaves too, and it's cold without it.

He blinks his eyes to try and get his focus back, myopia be damned. He can't rub his eyes and he can't quite figure out why-

Cool metal presses against his side. 

"Stay still." 

As soon as the knife slides along his ribs, cold and alarming, his arms feel like they've been set on fire, one at a time. 

He's starting to remember what's going on. His arms fall to the floor, heavy.

"Damn, that stings." He squints, and he can make out Akira's mop of hair. The boy kneels by him, unfastening the ties from his legs.

"Your hands are not a great colour so I took the easy way out. I want to save this red rope though, it's nice."

Hasegawa just nods weakly.

"Are you okay?" Akira asks gently, massaging some feeling back into his calf. 

"I'm, uh." He thinks about it for a moment, flexing his fingers. They  _ burn _ , but he's definitely got the feeling back. "I'm alright." 

Akira pulls his legs straight, rubbing his feet a little. They actually feel fine, all things considered, but the slacks he's still mostly wearing are probably going to have to be burned. 

"You did  _ good _ , I thought you'd want cut out sooner." There's a little wonder in Akira's voice. 

Hasegawa sits up, finally, and runs a hand through his sticky hair. His mouth tastes like a wallpaper factory, and his arms are made of solid lead. "I didn't know I could ask." 

Akira shoves him, tutting, laughing. Maybe it was a stupid thing to say.

"Please let me wash your face, I  _ can't _ talk to you like this." 

"Does this involve that nasty looking shower down the stairs?" Hasegawa asks, mind-mapping the route. His legs are pudding and his depth perception without his glasses is horrendous, so this seems like no mean feat. 

"No, not yet." Akira pulls something over from near the spider graveyard of a tool shelf. "I stashed some hot water and a bowl in here." 

Hasegawa breathes a sigh of relief.

Akira fills the basin with water from a thermos, from the sound of it, and takes to attacking Hasegawa's face with a washcloth. It's a little soapy, which is probably for the best.

"God, I didn't think it would dry so…" He fusses, trying to be gentle with Hasegawa's eyelids. "I don't ever give it this long to get nasty I guess. Does that hurt?" 

Hasegawa doesn't mention how much it stings. "You're asking about that but not my shoulders?" He's teasing, but his voice is still hoarse, roof of his mouth still tacky, so it comes out a little husky. 

Akira tuts, reprimanded, focusing his attention on Hasegawa's sore jaw. His hands feel good, and the heat of the compress is soothing. "Oh Zenkichi, I thought you were  _ tough _ ." 

He laughs, starting to feel more human and less like a sex toy. Akira can be pretty cute sometimes. "Can I have a drink? Or my eyesight back?" 

Akira gives him the washcloth to sort his own neck out and patters off, soft footsteps on the floorboards. He presses a bottle against Hasegawa's thigh a moment later. He must think he's  _ really  _ blind.

Hasegawa gargles and spits into the basin until the back of his throat feels normal. It takes a while. He washes his hairline and takes off his tie… that he might trash on the way home now, after all that it's seen.

He's coming back around properly now, situational awareness trickling back. The boy is using a spray bottle of something that smells terrible, presumably glass cleaner, standing by the lamp, bare ass poking out between his stockings and school shirt. 

"I had fun, by the way." Hasegawa says, voice sounding a little more normal, unbuttoning his shirt. It's spattered with everything, damp with sweat, creased from shibari. His casual clothes are a long way away, down the death trap stairs, but he feels stifled by these ones.

Akira turns to look at him, and he's mostly a blur of shapes, but Hasegawa can make out that shy smile. 

He pads over and slides Hasegawa's glasses back onto his face, coming back into focus. "Me too." 

The contact of Akira's fingers brushing his cheek and tidying his hair absentmindedly sets off some warm sparks in his belly. The boy is a total mess now, panda-eyed from smudged makeup, belly and thighs painted with come. 

Hasegawa reaches out to touch the boy's waist, keeping him there for a moment. He takes his chance.

"Say, uh. Quick shower and round two?"

Akira laughs, with a snort even. "Man, you came in me like a fire extinguisher blew up. It went on forever and I couldn't even get off of you. I have  _ such  _ a stomachache."

"Oh. So what you're saying is that you couldn't handle me?" 

Akira snorts again and shoves him. 

"I'll definitely shower, but we'll see about the rest." 

**Author's Note:**

> Massive RIP to everyone who clicked into this expecting Wolf to top, lmao, I'll write that some other time
> 
> another massive RIP to Hasegawa's dry cleaner


End file.
